


the path to paradise begins in hell

by corydalis



Series: KlanceWeek2k16 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Klance Week 2016, M/M, did someone say 'stuck in the closet trope' no? have it anyway, honestly i had to take breaks from writing this to sIGH AT THESE DUMB BOYS, keith has no impulse control but whats new, lance tries to be smooth. fails.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7706782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corydalis/pseuds/corydalis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Were- were you about to-”</p><p>“No,” Keith lies.</p><p>“You were!” Lance accuses, his tone borderline hysterical. “You were totally going to kiss me!”</p><p>--<br/><i><b>Day 3+4:</b> Heaven//Hell + Free Day (Close)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	the path to paradise begins in hell

**Author's Note:**

> IM LATE FOR DAY 3 and i don't have anything for day 4 so i'm knocking two birds with one stone! I could have gone for death for this but nope my brain went straight to seven minutes in heaven like the grubby little gremlin it is. AND THEN I DIDNT EVEN DO THAT. ive taken liberties with this prompt buT LMAO WHATEVER

“Just for the record, this is definitely your fault.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Keith _knows_ that it’s bait, but he can’t stop himself from rising to it anyway, just like he always finds himself doing. “ _My_ fault?” he hisses. “How the hell is this my fault?! You’re the one that dragged us in here!”

Lance huffs irritably, and the action pisses Keith off more than usual because _dude_ _you’re about three centimetres away from my face_. Lance is lucky he doesn’t have bad breath. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t have had to if you knew the meaning of _stealth_!”

“I’m a hell of a lot more stealthy than you are!” Keith retorts.

“Oh _sure_ ,” Lance attempts to fling his hands up in the air in exasperation but the space is so small that he ends up nearly whacking Keith in the face instead. It might have actually been intentional, Keith thinks bitterly. “Because nearly punching the guard in the face is _so stealthy!_ He was minding his own business!”

“He could have seen us!”

“You don’t know that! You don’t even know if that would have been a bad thing!”

“Ugh,” Keith falls backwards against the - he wants to say closet, but not even closets are this cramped and aside from some shelves above their heads that are clearly meant to accommodate aliens much taller than them, there isn’t really anything in here at all - door in an attempt to put some sort of space between them. It doesn’t work.

It really wasn’t supposed to be this difficult.

Keith knows, objectively, that being part of the Voltron Paladins doesn’t just involve forming Voltron and punching their way through the Galra ranks to Zarkon, and there is a certain degree of diplomacy involved. But knowing and actually _doing_ it are completely different things.

Primitive but homely celebrations thrown by grateful and newly liberated aliens around some sort of campfire, he can handle. They’re even fun, most of the time. High class _parties_ thrown by technologically advanced aliens as a forefront for diplomatic talks with Allura? Not even close to the same thing.

For one thing, they hadn’t been allowed to wear their suits. Or at least, not their battle suits. Instead they’ve all been specially tailored formal wear as a show of goodwill from Sytau’s inhabitants - as if the party and alliance weren’t enough. They aren't even really suits - more a snug sort of tunic and dress pants in darker shades of their respective Paladin colours, not that Keith minds. Privately, he’s quite impressed; it’s a good fit considering how quickly it was made and he actually thinks he looks quite good in it, if he cared about that sort of thing.

(He might even think Lance looks good in his, if he allowed the thought anywhere within ten metres of his brain.)

So it’s not the tunics he has an issue with. It’s the fact that no battle suits mean no helmets. And no helmets mean no communicators. And no communicators mean the two of them are stuck here until someone finds them.

And regardless of what Lance says, this is not his fault.

...Not entirely.

Okay, maybe he should have stayed at the party, but Keith had been restless. It had reached that point in the night where most of the partygoers were vaguely intoxicated and most of them were sneaking off anyway to go and do strictly PG things - as Keith found out when he had slipped out of the ballroom and nearly choked at the sight of the shameless couples in the dimly lit hallway (high class party or not, it seems this civilization _thrives_ on contact with each other. None of the guards had even batted an eye, even when one of them had nearly gotten elbowed in the face by a stray arm as a couple staggered past him, hanging off of each other).

Regardless, Keith had left the ballroom to get away from the sight of Lance’s incessant flirting and apparently stumbled into something much worse, so he had done the logical thing and stalked down the hallway until he found a set of stairs free of people.

And then, he had maybe climbed those stairs. Which wasn’t strictly necessary, true, but Keith wanted to be alone, and he wasn’t too fond of the idea of getting bowled over by a couple of aliens skipping down the hall looking for a place to make out (or whatever their equivalent is).

Unfortunately, that was when things had started going sour, because that was when _Lance_ had shown up.

Lance, who had apparently followed him, asking (read: whisper-screeching at) Keith what the hell he was doing ‘sneaking off’, and how he couldn’t just go wherever the hell he wanted and regardless of what Lance says,  _that_ was what had attracted the guard.

And okay, Keith can admit that nearly punching said guard was not a very well thought out plan, but he’d panicked; there’s a certain feeling that comes with being somewhere you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to be that puts anyone on edge. And Keith, whose fight or flight instincts had been mostly ‘fight’ even before he was dragged into an intergalactic war, had reacted on impulse.

So as much as Keith hates to acknowledge it, Lance - who apparently now knows Keith well enough to predict his thoughts (a concept that Keith still doesn’t know how to react to) stopping him had probably been for the best.

But Lance had _not_ needed to drag them into this tiny little room - they could have easily rounded a corner to avoid the guard.

And now the door’s locked.

He’s officially in hell. Lance’s unfairly long legs are tangled with his and his chest is brushing against Keith’s, and Keith has been doing a _good_ job of keeping any unnecessary feelings about Lance that might jeopardise the team on the down low, he doesn’t deserve this.

“Why the hell were you following me, anyway?” Keith scowls. “I didn’t think you’d even notice I’d left. You seemed pretty busy.” Inwardly, however, he winces. Way to be subtle, Keith.

“Dude, I know you’ve got this whole ‘holier-than-thou’ Lone Wolf schtick going for you and the concept of human interaction eludes you,” Lance retorts hotly. “But we’re on a _diplomatic_ mission here!”

“And?”

“And?! We have no idea about their culture or traditions or anything; this is delicate! Didn’t you watch cartoons as a kid?”

“If you’re taking life advice from children’s shows, no wonder you’re such a mess.”

“Okay first of all, screw you, they had good messages. And second; my point is that you can’t risk messing this up by offending our hosts, or accidentally knocking over an ancient vase, or _sneaking off to a restricted area!_ ”

“It’s not a restricted area! We’re just upstairs!”

“It could be! God Keith, haven’t you ever been to a classy party before? Hint: _you don’t go upsta-_ ”

Keith slaps a hand over his mouth. “Shut up, I hear something.”

Lance makes an indignant sound around his hand, and then - to Keith’s _disgust, not_ arousal - licks it. Keith pulls it away like he’s been burned, smacking his elbow against the closet wall.

“ _Dude,_ ” he hisses. Lance raises a finger to his lips mockingly, in the universal gesture of silence.

Keith scowls, but complies, straining his ears. Outside of the door, he hears the heavy thump of approaching footsteps; likely clad in armor if the sound is anything to go by. A guard.

He tenses. He feels Lance do the same.

The footsteps pause outside the door, and there’s a painstaking few ticks of silence. Then they move away into the distance.

Keith lets himself breathe.

He relaxes against the door again, expecting the anticipation of the moment to pass now that there’s no more fear of being caught, but it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

“You know,” Lance points out quietly. When did he lower his voice? “That guy could have let us out.”

That… is true. “But we’re trying not to get caught.”

“Yeah, but we’re _also_ locked in here with no access to our comms. We need someone to let us out.”

“And risk a ‘diplomatic incident’?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“I could break the door down.” Keith probably could, actually. For all the high-tech decor in this place, it looks like a pretty standard wooden door.

Lance makes an odd noise in the back of his throat that Keith can’t identify, and then clears it. “And _that_ wouldn’t be a diplomatic incident?”

“Fine, what do _you_ suggest we do?”

It’s only when Lance’s breath fans across Keith’s cheeks that he realises how close they’ve gotten in their bickering. It happens more often than Keith will admit, but in this small space he’s _far_ more aware of it. Enclosed spaces do that to an atmosphere; everything feels heightened and intimate and intense and a whole bunch of other feelings Keith is mad at himself for experiencing right now.

The low light isn’t helping anything either; not with the way it makes Keith so conscious of the sound of Lance’s breathing and the thin beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. There’s _something_ in the air; a thin coat of tension that has Keith’s breath hitching.

“I noticed,” Lance says suddenly, his voice low but undeniably steady. Keith chastises himself; of course Lance doesn’t feel it too. This is all so stupid.

“Noticed what?” He should move back, but backing down isn’t in his blood, even if it means putting himself through hell.

“When you left.”

 _Now_ there’s a tremor in Lance’s tone. And of course Lance must have noticed, otherwise he wouldn’t have come after him, but there’s something in the way he says it. A hidden _why_ that Keith can’t quite let himself believe.

(But it’s there anyway, a tiny thought pushing at his brain and whispering _maybe._ )

It’s dark, but Keith’s night vision is enough that he can make out the lines of Lance’s jaw working. He’s close enough to see the tiny strip of light from underneath the door reflected in Lance’s eyes. His heart thunders in his chest.

He’s far too close. Not close enough.

Lance’s nose bumps his, and someone’s breath hitches. Keith doesn’t know whose.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice cracks, uncertain, and reality crashes back into him at full force.

Keith _freezes_. There’s a tense, heavy moment in which he realises just what he had been about to do, and then it shatters. He shoves his palm against Lance’s shoulder - _when did it get there_ \- and throws himself back, feeling like he’s just been doused with shockingly cold water.

His back slams against the door, his pulse racing and breath catching in his throat. Except they’re still in the tiny space, and he can’t go far. Panic rises in his chest. _Fuck._

 _This_ is why he’s been trying to avoid these types of situations; Keith is a man of instinct and impulse and not thinking things through, which is dangerous enough in battle but even worse when it comes to emotions. Specifically, emotions about other people. People like Lance.

He’d screwed up; let himself get caught up in a moment that didn’t exist, and he doesn’t need to see Lance’s face to know what kind of expression he’s probably wearing.

“Were- were you about to-”

“No,” Keith lies.

“You were!” Lance accuses, his tone borderline hysterical. “You were totally going to kiss me!”

“No, I wasn’t!” Keith says desperately, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to him. “Shut _up_ , Lance.”

He feels _humiliated_. He had no idea it was possible to be this embarrassed. What the hell is it about this guy that brings out sides of Keith he hadn’t even known existed? He pushes back against the door, averting his eyes to look anywhere but at Lance. Fucking Lance, and his dumb jokes and stupid flirting and his long legs and his smile and his _eyes-_

Keith falls backwards.

He hits the floor with an ungodly thunk, groaning, and shuts his eyes against the sudden change in light. Above him, he hears Lance’s shout of surprise.

“Hey, the doors- oh. Hi there.”

Someone had let them out, then. He opens his eyes to confirm this, and is greeted with the sight of a Sytaun child (possibly) peering down at him. They blink. Keith blinks back.

“You did not have to go in there to pathiase.” they say, sounding confused. Keith does not know exactly what ‘pathiase’-ing is, but he can take a good guess. He scrambles to his feet instantly, praying that he doesn’t look as nauseous as he feels.

“Keith-” Lance starts, but Keith is already storming away, as fast as he can without flat out bolting (he still has his pride, he’s not going to _run_ from Lance like a high-school kid).

“Keith!” Lance, apparently, has no qualms about running. Keith ignores him, hoping to god that if he can just get back to the others, Lance will drop it, and then they’ll get back to the Castle and Keith can hole himself up in the training room and beat his frustrations into the Gladiator. He’ll figure out some sort of plan on how to deal with this afterwards.

Except they’re nowhere near the main ballroom anymore, and that means Lance has plenty of time to catch up to Keith.

“Keith!” he shouts again. “Will you just- just slow down already! God, how can anyone walk that fast. You’re unbelievable. _Keith!_ ”

A second later, Lance nearly bowls him over, and there’s a hand around Keith’s forearm. Keith stops, but pointedly does not look back.

“ _What_ , Lance?” he grits out. His face is burning.

“What do you mean ‘what’?!” Lance hisses. “What the hell was that?!”

“Nothing!”

“You were about to kiss me!”

“But I didn’t!”

“ _Why not?!_ ”

Keith’s head snaps around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is an odd sort of choking noise. He tries again. “...What?”

Lance, at least, looks the same way Keith feels, but he holds his gaze. “I mean, we were _clearly_ having a- a Moment, or something! I even set it up! ‘I noticed when you left’, I mean _come on._ That was incredibly romantic! And then you go to kiss me, but then you chicken out and shove me instead - _ow_ , by the way - and now you’re running off!”

“I thought- I thought you didn’t- _You’re_ the one who broke the moment!”

“How?!”

“You- You said my name!”

“Oh, fancy that! I say the name of the guy I like when he’s about to lay one on me! That was clearly a ‘ _holy shit kiss me_ ’ kind of ‘Keith’!”

“It sounded like a ‘ _Keith what the hell are you doing_ ’ kind of ‘Keith!’ And if you hadn’t said anything, I might have actually done it!”

Lance pauses at that, still gripping Keith’s arm. Then, maintaining eye-contact the whole while, he slowly, deliberately, shuts his mouth. Keith’s has gone dry. He flicks his tongue out to wet it and Lance’s eyes flicker down momentarily, distracted, and that’s- oh.

There’s a small, purposeful silence. Lance’s eyebrows jump. _Well?_

And then Keith’s hands are reaching out of their own accord, fisting in the navy blue of Lance’s tunic and tugging him forwards and suddenly he’s crushing his lips to Lance’s.

It’s forceful, and messy, and to be honest the middle of kissing your friend/rival is not a nice time to realise you have no clue what you’re doing. But a couple of hundred thousand years of human history have to be onto something, and Keith figures that kissing is mostly a thing of instinct anyway, and if there’s anything he has, it’s instinct.

But when Lance tilts his head to adjust the angle, slides his free hand around the base of Keith’s neck and starts moving his lips in rhythm against Keith’s, Keith is for once content to follow his example. His eyes slip shut.

His pulse is spiking, sailing, hot and thunderous. Lance kisses like he does everything in life, full-on and full of energy and always with the hint of a challenge, one which Keith is more than happy to accept when a tongue flicks across his lips. And that’s when the heat really kicks in, because Lance tastes like the amazing fruits they’d been given earlier and something distinctly _Lance_ , and Keith can’t decide which one he likes better.

He pushes, pushes, pushes, until Lance’s back lightly hits the wall and he makes a soft noise into Keith’s mouth. Which is, as it turns out, extremely satisfying. Except then Lance sucks Keith’s bottom lip between his teeth and Keith finds himself making a similar noise, a low tug of arousal making itself known behind his navel.

And that’s- new. Different. But definitely not bad, Keith decides. Just a bit much. He pulls away to breathe, to think, and has to bite back a smile at the disappointed little whine Lance gives.

Exhaling gently, he rests his forehead against Lance’s. For a second, he worries that the gesture is too intimate or familiar - he’s never done this before, he has _no idea_ \- but then a second later Lance blinks his eyes open, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

“So,” Lance breathes. “Just making sure, but, you _do_ like me, right? Because I think I’ve made my intentions pretty clear with the whole setting up that Moment thing and actually _telling_ you that you’re the guy I like, but you’re pretty hard to read, dude.”

“You’re better at it than most,” Keith says without thinking, but can’t bring himself to regret the admission when Lance’s smile widens.

“Nice. So, uh; yay or nay? Super badass space boyfriends or disastrous friends with benefits? Do you like me; yes, double yes, or absolutely?”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Keith says, but there’s no bite behind it. “Yes, by the way. I don’t go making out with just anyone.”

Lance looks smug. “We _did_ make out, didn’t we? I just made out with _Keith Park_ , resident lone wolf and space asshole, I must be even more charming than I thought-”

“You know, you could keep making out with him if you’d shut up.”

As it turns out, when given the option between talking and kissing, Lance will always choose kissing.

**Author's Note:**

> *throws glitter* talk to me about klance on [tumblr](http://buckettkun.tumblr.com/) pls i beg of u


End file.
